


Crimes of Fashion in Times of Passion

by shedrovemehere



Category: Professional Wrestling, Ring of Honor, World Wrestling Entertainment, 新日本プロレス | New Japan Pro-Wrestling
Genre: Fashion & Couture, Kayfabe Compliant, M/M, Mystery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-20
Updated: 2017-08-20
Packaged: 2018-12-17 18:24:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,511
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11857110
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shedrovemehere/pseuds/shedrovemehere
Summary: The Fashion Police receive an ominous note from the Bullet Club reporting the fashion crimes of one of their own. The rabbit hole goes deeper than Breezy and Dango could ever imagine. They must race against time to unravel a web of secrets; if they can't, dangerous crimes of fashion could fracture the Bullet Club, put innocent citizens at risk, and threaten to disband the Fashion Police themselves.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Lanternhill](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lanternhill/gifts).



> Hope you enjoy! This crackpot story got away from me, but I had a great time writing it for you! Both these pairings were in the request, and I love them both, so I decided to write them both :)

Fandango had expected today to be a normal day of fighting fashion’s foes. And even if he expected surprises, which he often did, he still wouldn’t have expected this one. As soon as he and Tyler closed the door to their office, a note slid under the door.

Tyler picked up the note and unfolded it. “This letterhead says ‘International Bullet Club’,” he gasped. “It says, ‘Kenny Omega is guilty of every faux pas in the book. We need your help to bring him down.’” There was a photo enclosed, and Tyler winced in disgust before turning his attention back to the letter. “There's no signature, only two dollar signs. It looks like the Bullet Club needs our help, Dango!”

“But why would the Bullet Club suddenly care about a crime of fashion? They’ve _obviously_ never paid attention to it before.”

Tyler frowned. “Ugh, don’t remind me of their Improper Conduct with Leather. It almost makes me sick.”

 _As a cop, you see so many things that nobody should have to. Breezy’s too good a man for this ugly job._ Fandango laid a strong, supportive, masculine hand on his buddy’s shoulder. “I know, Breezy, me too. Me too. None of this makes sense.” He paused and turned to their clue bulletin board, taking the photo of Kenny Omega from Tyler, and pinning it in the center. “But I know all the mix-and-match separates are gonna add up to an ensemble of on-trend Truth. And we’ll be there...”

“… to take it to The Cleaner,” Tyler finished, with resolve.

 _Maybe the kid's got the chops for this job after all._ “Nice one, Breezy. Let’s get on the case.”

* * *

Finn Bálor paced back and forth in front of his laptop, waiting for the chime announcing that the other groups had joined the call. He felt a little bad about scheduling a last-minute video conference when they’d just had their quarterly all-Bullet-Club call, but he hoped that would make it less likely that they’d have unwanted eavesdroppers. And Kenny couldn’t know. _The poor bastard can’t handle anything more_. In fairly rapid succession, he heard three chimes heralding the arrival of his stablemates.

Anderson and Gallows were with Finn in his hotel room in Cincinnati. Marty, the Bucks, Cody, and Page were in a similarly-decorated hotel room in London. AJ was at home. And Owens, Fale, G.O.D and Yujiro were in what looked like a multipurpose room at the dojo.

"Thanks for makin' time for this call, boys,” Finn sighed. Tama Tonga began quietly translating for Yujiro. “You all know why we’re here, and why Kenny isn’t. We’re at risk of bein' infiltrated by law enforcement, so let’s keep it short. Now. Who’s got some insight into what we’re dealin’ with? Anyone want to explain how the Fashion Police might have set their sights on Kenny?” Finn would wait however long it took for someone to volunteer something.

“It was our fault,” Matt admitted almost immediately, gesturing to his brother as though that were necessary. “It was supposed to be a harmless rib.”

“You _fool_.” Finn hung his head in disappointment. “They are going to have our asses.” He accentuated that last word with a fist slammed onto the desk. “Once they start snooping around Kenny, we’re all _fucked_.” Somehow his brogue made the word “fucked” sound even more dire. He brought a hand to his forehead, exasperated, as the totality of the situation washed over him. “I mean, long sleeveless vinyl jackets, vinyl... swim trunks _or something_ , Too-Sweet patterned tights?”

Hangman Page looked down at his hands “American flag contact lens in only one eye, Fale’s cat murder tee…” he looked at Marty, gesturing up and down wildly “….all of…. your… thing.” Marty looked like he wanted to be offended, but knew the truth.

“Soccer mom hair, wearing an _actual noose_ , y’all’s... store-brand-Roman-Reigns ring gear…” Cody said softly, avoiding looking at the stunned faces of G.O.D. on his screen.

Quiet horror crept over the Bullet Club members as they each mentally catalogued their various outfits. The video conference fell dead, like during a Catholic mass when worshippers are instructed to contemplate their sins in silence.

“We all know if Kenny goes down, he’s takin' the Bullet Club with ‘im. And we can’t exactly solve a Kenny situation the way we solved the Adam Cole situation.” Finn let the silence linger a moment. _Adam was a good man. He didn’t deserve that. But we had to survive._

Tama Tonga shook his head angrily. “No. No fuckin’ way. I’m not sticking my neck out.” He looked to Fale and Tanga for reinforcement. “Maybe this is something _The Elite_ should handle,” he hissed, making no effort hide his disdain for the Bullet Club’s famous sub-faction.

Chase Owens stood up in anger. “Yeah! _The Elite_ ”—Matt and Nick looked into the camera and softly chanted “the the Elite” to each other under their breaths—“got us into this mess in the first place.” Everyone avoided eye contact, a stony silence among them. “Do we have any leverage on the Fashion Police? Do we know anything about them we could use?”

AJ laughed. “Other than the fact that they’re obviously in love with each other and too stupid to see it, they seem like pretty straightforward guys. It’s a shame though. They’d be such a cute couple.”

“Wait a minute,” Nick said slowly. "We think they’ve got a serious case against us, right? And we know they’re very passionate about their work.”

Anderson pointed at the screen. “Yes! Because it’s an excuse for them to hang out together in close quarters! Fandango told me it was almost worth having to see horrific crimes of fashion like AJ’s hair—“ AJ scowled and about half the other members on the call nodded sagely “—to spend more quality time with his ‘main man Breezy.’ It was actually really cute; I don’t think he knew how he sounded.”

“So,” Nick continued, “if we could show them that they belong together…”

“They might hang up the badges for good,” Matt finished.

Finn felt the anxious knot in his stomach begin to untie.

* * *

They had slowly stopped doing tag matches at all. Now the force took up all their time, but they didn't mind. Being a tag team had meant they spent a few hours every few days together. This way, they got to be together most of every day.

“Hey, Dango! Look at this!” Tyler had been scouring the internet for hours looking for photographic evidence to catalogue Kenny’s many crimes. But now, 348 pages into his search, Tyler had found a picture of Kenny Omega looking very different from the haggard, dead-eyed husk that currently scowled out from the picture labeled **DOESN’T CLEAN UP WELL** on their clue board.

Fandango peered at the photo of a golden-haired man giggling self-consciously on the hideously decorated set of some Japanese talk show. He looked back at another photo on the board, labeled **CANADIAN NIGHTMHAIR**. It was truly grisly: Fandango had had to choke back bile the first time he saw it—hair extensions so unblended, _so horrifying_ … He’d almost hid the photo from Tyler to spare him having to incorporate _that_ into his understanding of humanity’s darkness. _My main man is rugged and can handle a heavy load, but he didn’t deserve that. Sometimes you question why you ever joined the force._ “That’s not our guy, Breezy.”

“Yeah it is Dango! Look!” Tyler brought up another photo of the same man, laughing again, this time in his green, yellow, and orange ring gear. “Look at his ass!”

“Everyone has at least _one_ redeeming feature, Breezy. Even pour souls Father Time has abandoned in a trash bag outside Fashion's thrift store.”

“No, Dango! Look: see that symbol?” On the back of the man’s tights was the Greek letter Omega, with one feathery wing sprouting from it. "This is _him_ , Dango. And he’s… he’s—“

“He’s downright angelic, Breezy, no doubt about that.” _What happened to that bouncy mop of golden curls?_ Fandango brought his face closer, softly caressing the image of those perfect blonde ringlets with two fingers. “What happened to you, Kenny Omega?” he whispered to the screen, to the man who once knew how to use appropriate product for curly hair, to coordinate colors…. to _smile_. “What happened?”

* * *

Tama Tonga spoke up. “You're right. The Fashion Police are _definitely_ perfect for each other, and if the Bullet Club brings them together, they might be grateful. Maybe grateful enough to stop their probe.” He sighed, clearly trying to sound measured. “But what about Kenny? He’s off the hook then, but he’s still a sad bastard who hasn’t done _fuckall_ as a leader in months. And he’ll still look like _absolute shit_.”

Everyone fell silent. They knew it was true.

Finn didn’t like the look on Tama’s face, even if he was right. _I can’t have a mutiny on my hands, too. For fuck’s sake, Kenny, I really need you to get your shit together._  

“Well?” Marty said with a chipper, forced air of naive helpfulness. “Has Kenny said anything lately about why he keeps getting _worse_?"

Finn couldn’t see everyone’s faces due to the connection, but most of the eyes he _could_ see were either rolling or averted so as to Not Get Into It. As soon as Tama finished translating for Yujiro, he _definitely_ rolled his eyes.

Cody, in the same room with him, turned to face Marty, staring piercingly. “Marty.”

“Marty,” Finn said through his teeth, knowing it fell to him as the US Chapter Leader to clarify. “He’s been talking about it—talking about _him_ —for months. Years, if you count Twitter and almost every interview he’s ever given.”

Marty stared for a second, an odd look of terror on his face. “He... He said they were done. _Never_ talk. They wouldn’t even _look_ at each other at the press conference.”

Nick put a gentle hand on Marty’s. “Marty. Did you see his ring gear last night?” Kenny had brand new gear with all kinds of chimeric imagery, deliberately designed to be a passive-aggressive (so he said) tribute to his former tag team partner. It was even in his former friend's signature blue and white color scheme. “ _Did you see the video?_ ” Marty blinked in confusion.

Matt sighed as he solemnly pulled out his phone. Everyone on the call leaned forward in morbid fasciation to watch Marty watch Kenny have a fraught, emotional reunion with a man he’d betrayed years ago. Marty’s eyes got wide, then angry, then squinty. Then offended. Total silence on three continents waited for Marty’s response.

“Why! _Why_ would he do that?” Marty didn’t look angry, just incredulous. “How could you have such a beautiful man in your arms and just—“ Marty threw his hands in the air and made a _pssssh_ noise. “It makes _no sense_!”

Finn winced. “Marty, we all knew you had feelin’s for Kenny. I’m sorry.”

“ _What_? No! No, I was talking about Kenny, why would _he_ do that? If anything I’ve always been rooting for Kota in this, I mean how could Kenny pass  _that_ up, am I right?” Marty surveyed the call to see a nonzero number of nods. “It’s just… they _need_ each other. I didn’t want to hope we’d see them together again, and now it somehow feels even more distant…” He seemed to realize everyone was staring. “Like  _you_ don’t treat your friends like characters in your life sometimes? Such a beautiful love story... _What?"_ Marty looked exasperated with them all. "Fine. Matt, Nick, you talk to Kenny all the time. What’s he say?”

Matt put on his best Kenny Omega face and voice: “He was _weak_! I _knew_ he wouldn’t live up to our promise. I no longer need to _worry_ myself with _lesser men_. He is truly _behind me_ now.”

Nick joined in with his best Kenny-Omega-to-11 voice, with huge fake sobs: “I sometimes just wish he _really was_ behind me you know? With his arms around my waist, supporting me and keeping me safe.” It was only  _barely_ a joke, and no one really laughed too much.

“Heh, maybe Kenny was worried the blue and white dick-shaped phoenix on his ass would be too subtle for some people,” Cody laughed.

“That was a _bullet_ -shaped phoenix, Cody, get your mind out of the gutter,” said Matt. No one else on the call was buying it.

Cody blinked. “So. We know what we have to do?”

Finn smiled. “Apparently, we’re seein’ whether the US Chapter or the Japan Chapter can get their boys to kiss on TV first—it has to be on TV, it's the only way to ensure the other pair sees it. If I know the four of 'em, when we finally get one set of ‘em to wake up and realize they’re perfect together, the other will not be outdone.”

"It solves two problems at once," Cody said. "Our  _dear leader_ "— he rolled his eyes—"will be able to actually  _lead_ again once he's not the most pathetic sad puppy, and the Bullet Club's problems with the Fashion Police just—" he wiggled his fingers "— _psshhh..._ fade away." 

"Great." Finn said. "We'll send the exact plans around by email to keep the call short, but the general gist is easy: find these guys, appeal to their egos, and convince all four of 'em to believe in love." 

“I love it!” said Matt, wheels clearly turning. "The Bullet Club as international matchmakers? That’s good for the Bullet Club brand. Think of the spinoffs! Bullet Club Bachelor. Bullet Club rom-coms. The future is love, boys.”

“Plus, those guys just _really_ need to kiss already,” said AJ. Everyone nodded wholeheartedly.

“I know, right? Try hanging out with Kenny _all the time_ ,” Nick sighed. “But imagine the press— _Bullet Club makes wrestling matches_ — get it? We need an iconic image…”

"…. like say two beautiful people kissing, and clearly in love, with the support of a crowd of wrestling fans?” That was Tama Tonga, translating for Yujiro. Tama himself looked slightly mollified, but still a bit suspicious, Finn noted.

“Exactly,” said Matt. "Whoever gets it on TV first gets the bragging rights _and_ the first Cupid Club t-shirts." 

* * *

 Over the past two days, the Fashion Police had called in some favors, and though there was a lot of private agreement about the need for Kenny to pay for the things he’d done, they were forced to conclude that even they, with all their connections and fashion savvy, could not bring down The Cleaner. At least not without repercussions they weren’t prepared to face. After a long discussion in which they even considered leaving the force, they decided that if they couldn’t bring Kenny Omega to justice, maybe they could stop him once and for all. It was unorthodox, but it was the right thing to do.

They'd been collecting photos of Kenny Omega. Fandango was hunched over the outdated computer in their small windowless office, as he had been for the last two days. He pored over photos, looking for a clue, a motive, a lead… _anything_. Right now, Tyler paced back and forth behind him. “So _why_ would someone suddenly turn to fashion crime, Dango? Why would a man lose all hope like that? Why would he—"

"For the love of Anderson Cooper, Breezy, will you look at this?” Fandango interrupted. He flipped rapidly through several images. “This guy _has_ to be connected, somehow. It’s too much to be a coincidence.” In almost every picture Fandango flagged, Kenny shared the frame with a radiant, fresh-faced Japanese man; lean and muscular, with a mop of perfectly unruly dark hair. "Who is _he_?"

When they finally found a photo of Kenny’s friend by himself, it was as though the screen suddenly became too bright to look at. “Dango… I can’t believe it. I never thought I’d see... it’s… he’s... a _twelve_.”

“That can’t be true, Breezy,” Fandango stared at the photo. _Not a hair out of place. Every muscle defined. The cheekbones of an immortal. Somehow… my god… are those…_ “White booty shorts?” Fandango gasped. “ _Sorcery!_ ” He recoiled from the screen. “No one in history…”

“Not even Brigitte Bardot, Dango! Not even _Richard Simmons_. No one has _ever_ pulled off white booty shorts like that.”

“No doubt about it, my man, somehow _I know_ he is the reason Kenny Omega turned to a life of fashion treachery. But he’s no twelve.”

“I don’t know Dango. I can’t look away.”

“Me either, Breezy.” _It’s rare for most people to see a man so immaculate, but not me._ “But you’re an eleven, and _no one_ ’s prettier than you.” _My guy Breezy works hard to be so pretty. I’d hate to see him lose confidence. There could never be a twelve to me._

“Aw, thanks Dango.” They gazed at each other in friendship for a long moment. Then Tyler turned back to the screen. “It says here this guy… this _Ibushi Kota_... was Kenny’s tag team partner, and then they separated. They were called the Golden Lovers, apparently—maybe they're dog people, you know, like golden retrievers? Oh, and… Kenny… _cost Ibushi a title shot_ in early 2015.”

Fandango sneered. “Wearing running shoes with dad jeans isn’t the only incredibly tacky skeleton in his closet of unspeakable deeds. It makes me _sick_.” Fandango swished a pile of papers off the desk in frustration, and turned to the clue board. “According to our charts, Omega’s dark descent in to a long life of fashion felony began right around that time. We’ve obviously got a motive.”

“You’re right, it's so obvious. They were best friends, like we are. If I lost my best dude and tag partner, I’d probably start wearing off-the-rack suit jackets with poorly fitting ripped jeans, too,” Tyler said sadly.

“Don’t say things like that Breezy,” Fandango looked at Tyler with alarm in his eyes, “I don’t want to think about you sinking to those depths.” He closed his eyes and shook off the awful thought. “And besides, I’m not going anywhere. We have work to do.”

Tyler placed a reassuring hand on Fandango’s forearm. _Nothing like the firm but soft caress of your best bud to make the world right again._ “I don’t know how we’re going to end Kenny Omega’s crime streak, Dango,” Tyler said with conviction, “but I know Kenny’s fellow Golden Lover, Kota Ibushi, is the key.”


	2. Chapter 2

The longer the Fashion Police waited to put their plan into action, the more difficult Kenny Omega became to ignore. He looked increasingly tired and ragged by the day—he was wreaking havoc on the people of Tokyo, like a Godzilla wearing those awful shoes with five toes on them. Tyler and Fandango were now receiving daily wires from their contacts in Harajuku, and it was clear things would reach a boiling point soon enough. The stories were horrific: socks with sandals, basketball shorts to a nice restaurant, braiding the extensions instead of taking them out. They simply didn’t have the manpower to investigate anymore. If they didn’t stop this menace, and _soon_ , all of Tokyo, one of the world's most crucial fashion strongholds, was at risk of falling into fashionlessness.

Their international connections hadn't delivered a safe way to apprehend Kenny Omega, and the Fashion Police had to resort to more creative means. The International Sartorial Intelligence Agency put Tyler and Fandango in touch with a former fashion model who was embedded with New Japan Pro Wrestling, undercover as a commentator. When they reached Milano Collection AT, he told them he'd been privately horrified by Kenny’s decline into further frumpiness for some time now. Milano had some friends in _very_ high places, and _all_ of them owed him favors. For the cause, he was more than happy to cash in every single one. The Fashion Police had made the call on Tuesday morning, and by Thursday night in Tokyo, Ibushi and Omega were scheduled for a surprise title defense—against each other—to main event that Friday’s show at Korakuen.

When word got out, they’d both tried to back out. To ensure the show would go forward, Milano called upon his most trusted, most stylish contacts: Hiroshi Tanahashi, assigned to Ibushi; and Kazuchika Okada, assigned to Omega. Both had formed collegial relationships with the targets over the years, and done so casually enough to make their opinions sound unbiased, and their threats sound like suggestions. The dual-pronged plan was a success, and both Ibushi and Omega resigned themselves to remaining on the card.

Now all the Fashion Police could do was watch, wait, and gather information. They needed to know _everything_ about these Golden Lovers. They needed to be _ready_ : if their plan failed, they would be forced to take immediate action to bring down Kenny Omega.

* * *

Tyler and Fandango crept into the lounge of their office building. Their plan was being set into motion halfway across the world. They switched the TV on in time for the camera to pan over Kenny Omega as he did his trademark gunshot pose, pointedly aiming in Ibushi’s direction. It was about 2:30 in the morning, so they had to leave the volume on the TV low and pull the couch closer to the screen. 

“We were right Dango, he’s still wearing the ring gear that’s a tribute to Ibushi. And look at his hair!” They both smiled at the much blonder and extension-free Kenny Omega. “His best dude is already lessening the impact of Omega’s criminal damage to fashion.” The bell rang, and the two combatants stared at each other without moving an inch. “I’d get gear like that for you if we ever weren’t a team anymore.”

Fandango smiled. “You wouldn’t have to. Our outfits are flawlessly coordinated, so the differences would be too subtle.”

“I'd never want to be without you in the first place,” Tyler said, clapping a friendly smack onto Fandango’s knee.

“Me neither, Breezy. We’re a great team.” Fandango smiled and put a strong arm around Tyler’s chiseled shoulders.

On TV, the two men in the ring were closer now, but still staring, not touching, eyes full of emotion. Finally, they both raised one arm above their heads, and slowly, softly locked their fingers together, looking away from one another as their hands entwined. Fandango gestured toward the screen. “I think that’s exactly how I’d feel if I had to fight you, Breezy. I mean, it’d be fun to see what we could do together. But I’d just be thinking about how much I wished we were still a team.”

The match began to pick up. Ibushi started with a quick kick to the face. Omega wasn’t ready. He reeled slightly, allowing Ibushi to lightning-quick slide his arms around Omega’s waist to hit him with a bridging German Suplex for a two count.  

“That was half of one of their tag team combos,” Fandango noted. They’d watched hours of Golden Lovers matches in doing their research.

Now the former Golden Lovers hit a sequence in which they ducked punches, backflipped, and jumped over low kicks, in perfect sync with one another, eyes locked the whole time. At the end, Omega threw a hadouken, backing Ibushi into the ropes.  

“That was from their 2012 match at Budokan,” Tyler pointed out.

Fandango started taking notes. _Now it’s a pattern_.

Ibushi started to get up, but Omega elbowed him to the ground in the corner. He tried a no-sell kip up, but Omega seemed to be counting on it, and was ready with another, much stiffer elbow. Now Ibushi stayed down as Omega climbed the turnbuckle. He stood up, balancing on the right side of the turnbuckle, and mockingly threw one hand to the side and another in the air. He hitched forward for a 450 splash, crashing down onto Ibushi and grabbing his leg in one slick motion. Ibushi kicked out at two.

“That was half of a Golden Shower. Write that one down, Dango.”

Omega and Ibushi rolled away from each other and slowly worked their way up to their hands and knees on opposite sides of the ring; sweating, panting, eyes intensely locked, sharing the same unknowable expression. They looked like two tigers circling one another, neither wanting to look away.

Ibushi got to his feet first, and calmly strode toward Omega, who was on his knees. Ibushi grabbed Omega’s wrists to set up for a Kamigoye, but Omega wriggled one wrist free, and sank a quick punch square into Ibushi’s stomach. That gave him enough time to jump up, grab both Ibushi’s wrists, and draw him in for his own version of Ibushi’s new finisher. This time the hit to the gut doubled Ibushi over, and Omega grabbed him around the waist, flipping Ibushi’s legs over his shoulders. Right foot, left foot, he stepped through so his opponent’s arms were around each of his legs. He dove forward, Ibushi taking the full impact, face-and-stomach first.  

“Styles Clash. _That’s_ a fuck you,” Fandango muttered to himself as he jotted it down.  

Ibushi stayed down, as Omega tried impotently to flip him over by kicking him in the side. When that failed, he ducked to grab Ibushi in a Fireman’s Carry, slung across his shoulders. “You can’t escape!” he said dramatically, as Ibushi escaped from the carry, sliding down to frankensteiner Kenny away from him. Ibushi jumped to his feet and lifted Omega toward him by the hair and one wrist. On his feet now, Omega pivoted inward so his back was to Ibushi, attempting to elbow him in the gut. Ibushi dodged, and unfurled from Kenny, keeping hold of his wrist, turning Kenny inside out with a vicious lariat.  

“Rainmaker. Another fuck you.” Fandango loved how much drama was possible between people who were as close friends as the Golden Lovers had been. Clearly they'd studied each other's matches as much as the Fashion Police had.  

Ibushi held onto Kenny’s wrist, and pulled him up for another Rainmaker, which Kenny also failed to counter. Still holding Kenny’s wrist, Ibushi stumbled to his feet, as Kenny attempted to get onto his knees. With a sudden burst of speed, Ibushi nabbed Omega’s other wrist. Kota’s knee connected with Kenny’s angry face, and they both tumbled backward.  

“Another Kamigoye!” Tyler really liked that word.

As they fell, their legs intertwined, and Ibushi caught himself with one hand next to Kenny’s waist. Omega’s hand had landed softly on the small of Ibushi’s back. Red Shoes was down next to them, but there wasn’t really a pin. As before their eyes were locked, Ibushi’s face hovering several inches above Omega’s as he laid on the canvas. Never breaking eye contact, Ibushi softly laid one hand on Omega’s chest, and the observant Red Shoes began a count. 1… 2… Omega kept his eyes locked on Ibushi’s and sat straight up, shoving Ibushi off of him, sending him sailing backward. Ibushi had clearly let his guard down, and hit the canvas back-first. As he came to a rest, staring up into the rafters, the camera focused on his face, which after a brief pause broke into a wicked-looking smirk.

“This is the kind of tag team action I really like to see, Dango,” Tyler observed. “You don’t really see too many guys who work so intimately with each other’s bodies. I mean, besides us.” They high-fived. “You can just tell how rock hard their friendship is. They almost seem to—“  

“—share a brain,” Fandango finished. He met eyes with Tyler, who did not look away. Fandango chuckled self-consciously, looking down at his hands.  

The match continued, becoming a walk through the Golden Lovers' greatest hits. Each man eventually hit a Golden Triangle Moonsault. They taunted each other; Ibushi smirked after a V-Trigger, wiping his mouth on the back of his hand, and Omega took a turnbuckle hurricanrana, and immediately jumped to his feet, dusting himself off as if mildly inconvenienced. They forced each other to kick out of their own finishers; Omega glared and shook his head at an imaginary Kenny Omega before _successfully_ hitting a Phoenix Splash, and Ibushi made One Winged Angel look like he’d invented it. Each powerbomb looked more vicious than the last.  

Eventually they seemed to have beaten all the venom out of one another, and began trading submission holds, returning soon to kicks as it quickly became clear that neither would _ever_ tap out. Ibushi countered a lariat attempt with a kick to the side of the head, which made Omega slump to the canvas. Ibushi followed up with a standing corkscrew moonsault, which Omega helplessly watched happen. 1… 2… No. Omega fought his way up to a snap dragon suplex; 1… 2… No. Ibushi Dropkick. Omega Neckbreaker. They leaned on one another to stand, exhausted now that anger no longer seemed to be driving them. Omega grabbed both Ibushi’s wrists to try to hit him with another of his own finishers, but Ibushi was quick, and they ended up both hitting a Kamigoye at the same time, knees into stomachs, knocking the wind out of one another. They both slumped to their knees, panting, barely aware, until their eyes locked on each other. Chests heaving, they stared seemingly helplessly for a few moments. Omega suddenly lunged forward, throwing his arms around tightly Ibushi’s neck. Whether it was supposed to be a hold, a strike, or something else was unclear; Ibushi fell backward and Omega fell on top of him, chest to chest. 1… 2… 3.  

The crowd on TV reacted at the same time Fandango jumped off the couch. “He finally did it!” Tears wet his cheeks. “Ibushi’s been topping his ass for a decade, and now Kenny has _finally_ stuck it to _him_.” _You can see in their eyes how deeply and firmly they value each other’s friendship._ "This was a beautiful match, Breezy.”  

“It was. I’ve always imagined what it would be like to be up against my best guy in the world. And they did it. Together.”  

In the ring, neither man had moved, and now Young Lions separated them. One of them helped Ibushi prop himself up in the blue corner, legs splayed, panting beautifully, head against the turnbuckle. Omega stumbled to his feet and shambled toward Red Shoes to receive his belt back, holding it above his head in the center of the ring, chest still heaving. He walked over to his former partner, and standing between Ibushi's legs, held the belt above his head again. Ibushi slowly met his eyes. Referees, Young Lions, medics, camera men, and administrators milled about in the ring behind them, as Omega slowly sank to his knees, gently laying his belt beside him. Now they were face to face, Omega sitting on his knees, leaning awkwardly against Ibushi’s thigh. One more time they locked eyes, seemingly unaware of anything going on around them.  

“Just like us, Breezy. Two guys who can have a whole conversation telepathically.” Fandango wiped a tear away with his sleeve.

Tyler was also dabbing his eyes. "I didn’t mean to get emotional.”  

Fandango placed a firm hand on Tyler’s knee. “It makes me emotional too, Breezy; it’s how I want to be with you all the time. Best friends.” _My main man is so great to be around._  

“Best friends,” Tyler agreed, fervently squeezing Fandango’s hand.

On the screen, Ibushi and Omega still stared each other down. Omega finally cracked a smile, his whole face melting into an unrestrained expression of joy. He spoke something only Ibushi could hear. Ibushi said something in response, nodding once. Then he too smiled wide and laughed as as he brought his hand to the side of Omega’s face, cupping his jaw. Omega grabbed Ibushi’s forearm in response, and they stared; soft-eyed and relieved. Omega threw his arms around Ibushi’s neck, and Ibushi responded by wrapping his arms tightly around Kenny’s waist. The applause cascaded into cheers as they squeezed the life out of each other, faces turned inward so they could talk over the crowd, heads quaking with either tears or laughter. As they pulled away, it was clear it had been a little of both. They smiled ridiculously at each other, like _Omega vs. Ibushi_ was over, and it was just Kenny and Kota now, the same Kenny and Kota they’d been, and would always be. The one-wing design on the hip of Kenny’s ring gear matched up almost almost exactly with the one-wing design on Kota’s, when they sat like that.  

“That’s so poetic, Dango. Together they have a working pair of wings.” Tyler sniffled again.  

The thought of dramatically symbolic coordinating outfits had not previously occurred to Fandango, and he was filled with a new urgency. “That’s it, Breezy. We have to face each other someday. It looks like a special experience, the way they’re—"    

The crowd on TV erupted again, even more loudly than before. Tyler and Fandango’s attention snapped back to the screen. _A kiss_. The maybe-not-former-anymore Golden Lovers, still crouched in the blue corner, kissed as though it were breath or joy in their mouths, demanding to be savored, free after all those years of going without. Most of the crowd was on its feet, many had tears in their eyes, and the crowd shots revealed more than a few couples clasping hands, smiling as if reminded how sweet it is to find your other half. It only lasted a few seconds, but when they pulled away and laughed self-consciously, it felt like the crowd laughed with them. Kenny Omega got to his feet and reached a hand out for Ibushi, helping him up, pulling him by the wrist to the center of the ring, though forgetting his belt until Ibushi grabbed it and handed it to him. Kota raised Kenny’s hand in victory, gesturing toward him with a look of fierce pride. And when Kenny saw that look, his whole face was illuminated with the unmistakable, blissful smile of that handsome young man with the golden curls.  

“Sweet Lady Cher,” Tyler whispered to himself. “They were… the Golden LOVErs… because they LOVE each other," he said slowly. Tyler looked like his mind was racing; as overwhelmed as Fandango felt. 

 _Are we close to fashion justice?_  “And... they could have also been lovers... in the _more than friends_ sense, Breezy.” Fandango stared at Kenny Omega, now alone in the ring, gesturing dramatically. “I don’t think _friends_ kiss after their routine emotionally charged eye contact.”

Fandango looked up to find Tyler’s gaze locked on his. _It’s always easier to find the answers when I know I’ve got Breezy with me._ He studied his main man’s piercing blue eyes for the thousandth time, though in some ways it felt like the first. All at once a wave of understanding hit him, almost physically knocking him backward. He searched Tyler’s gaze for anything similar, anything that felt like an anchor in the storm. “...oh,” he said softly.  

Tyler drew in a breath sharply as though surprised. “Oh…” Again Tyler brought his eyes to meet Fandango’s, this time with fire in his ice-blue gaze.

Neither of them moved, not knowing what was next. They sat still until their breathing slowed a little. “Oh.” They said it simultaneously, like they always did when they finally figured out the truth. Tyler sucked in air through his teeth, while Fandango laughed nervously. Then silence.  

They reached for each other at the same moment; Fandango for Tyler’s arm to pull him closer, while Tyler threw one leg over Fandango’s lap. He held Fandango’s face in his hands, forehead to forehead and nose to nose, and Fandango held firmly to Tyler’s hips, pulling them toward him. For a moment they froze like that, chests heaving, bodies charged, eyes locked.  

Tyler rocked his hips and caressed Fandango’s cheekbones with his thumbs. “Dango,” he breathed, his eyes fluttering shut. “I don’t think _friends_ kiss after their routine emotionally charged eye contact.”  

“They don’t, Breezy,” Fandango said, his breath ragged. He nipped Tyler’s lower lip en route to a kiss so much sweeter than any closed case could be. _All those times I watched Breezy’s perfect lips as he talked, is this what I was thinking of? I mean, his lips *are* perfect, that’s just a given, but was I staring because I secretly wanted this?_ They stayed slow and deliberate, tongues lingering over one another.  

_I’d think the research would be easier so hands-on, no?_

_Breezy! I forgot we could hear each other’s internal monologues._

_Yeah Dango. You were staring at my lips because the truth was right under my nose this whole time._

_Don’t be so cheesy, Breezy. You don’t need to make jokes. You’re a damn good cop, and a damn fine kisser._  

The doors around the corner burst open as Finn entered the lounge, yelling into his phone, lingering in the doorway. “We haven't even been able to _find_ them for the past few days, and you already did it?" He sighed. "Wait, _what_? What d’ye mean he didn’t tell you? Are ye sayin’ The Elite had _nothing_ to do with—“ he wheeled around the corner, and clearly would have been prepared to see many many other things before he'd have gotten to Tyler Breeze calmly straddling the lap of Fandango. He stared in amused shock, moving the phone away from his ear. “Lemme guess—you boys kissed already too?”  

“Already?” said Tyler, not moving and not seeming terribly embarrassed.  

“Too?” Fandango asked, equally puzzled and unashamed. 

"Ye did, didn’t ya? Ha. What a shame.”  

Tyler and Fandango blinked at each other. “We don’t have to be exclusive, Finn,” Tyler offered; more a confused-but-helpful suggestion than anything salacious.  

“Heh.” He still looked a little incredulous, but put the phone back to his ear. “Nick, ye can stop worryin’ now. It’s over.” He turned and left, smiling and shaking his head.

Fandango and Tyler were alone again, Tyler still straddled Fandango’s lap. They shared a shrug, as they so often did, then Tyler hooked his arms around Fandango’s neck. “It was worth every 5 I had to see, and every single bad outfit, Dango.”  

It took Fandango’s breath away, knowing what those fives had cost his man Breezy. “I’d face those unspeakable hair extensions again, for this.” Fandango raised a hand to Tyler’s cheek, pushing a lock of hair behind Tyler's ear. “But no need to kill the mood.”  

They smiled at each other, before resuming the world's handsomest kiss. Well, the western hemisphere, anyway.  

* * *

Word soon got around the Bullet Club that they’d all failed spectacularly to carry out their matchmaking plan, and neither chapter had won their bet. In the postmortem conference call, they agreed that they probably deserved it for signing on to the Bucks’ crassly capitalist plans to openly profit off of their friends’ private lives.  

And truth be told, everyone involved was happier with the way it all went down: in the end, Breezango brought the Golden Lovers together, and the Golden Lovers returned the favor, no schemes necessary.


End file.
